The Soldier's Dark Secret

And even if there were—which there was not—the cases were still different. Celeste’s mother had been unhappy, but she had been perfectly normal. Her guilt did not manifest itself in nightmares and temper flashes and forgetting where she was and—all the things he was learning to control. All the things Celeste had helped him to understand. He had passed the tests he had set for himself. It was not a canker, as he’d imagined it for so long, a parasite which fed on his guilt—it was part of him, his condition. Another battle scar, and like the hole in his shoulder, he was learning to live with it.

Which brought him back to guilt. If our cases were reversed, if I told you I couldn’t let myself love you even though you were desperately in love with me, what would you do?

He would still love her. He would tell her he loved her, and he would keep telling her until she believed him and until she accepted that she had no reason at all not to love him back. He wouldn’t walk away. Even though that was what he was expecting Celeste to do? To sit back, and accept his decision and to live with it? Was that arrogance or was he back to wallowing in his guilt?

Guilt stopped Blythe Marmion loving Celeste. Jack did love Celeste. But Jack could never make Celeste happy because Jack didn’t deserve to be happy. Because it should have been Jack who died, and not the girl.

But the girl had spared him.

Celeste had all her answers now, and not many of them were pleasant, yet tonight she’d seemed surprised when he suggested it had turned out badly. He remembered what she’d said in Cassis, about laying ghosts. He remembered wishing he could do the same. He remembered concluding, as he always concluded, that it was impossible. But if Celeste could do it, why couldn’t he?

What if he was wallowing? What would the girl say to that? He had always assumed that she was torturing him with her suicide. He had always believed it was revenge for her child’s death, for all the deaths. Remember this, soldier. Never forget this, soldier. What if she simply couldn’t bear to go on?

What if she was sparing him?

What if he allowed himself to love Celeste?

The idea filled him with such happiness, he felt light-headed. It felt—it felt right.

What if he lost her? What if he walked away, and she stopped loving him and she found someone else? He couldn’t contemplate it. He couldn’t imagine it. He had, he realised with horror, assumed that she would always be there, waiting for some indeterminate point in the future when he might feel entitled to claim her. He cursed himself under his breath. Arrogant, stupid, fool. What was he waiting for? The future could be now, if he was willing to take a chance. If she was still willing to take a chance.

Jack looked up at the apartment building. ‘Dammit, there’s only one way to find out.’

* * *

‘Oh, Jack!’ Celeste fell on him, wrapping her arms around his neck. ‘Oh, Jack, I have been so worried. I am so sorry. I should not have said— I only meant to help you.’

‘You did.’ He pulled her tightly against her, holding her so close she could hardly breathe. ‘You did.’

She leaned back to look at his face. ‘What has happened?’

He laughed. ‘You,’ he said and kissed her. He tasted of the Paris night. He kissed her hungrily. ‘I love you so much,’ he said. ‘I don’t know if I can forgive myself for what happened in the village that day, but I do know I’d never forgive myself for losing you. I can’t believe how close I came to that, Celeste. Oh, God, Celeste, I love you so much.’

He kissed her again, more wildly, and the heaviness in her heart shifted. He loved her. She framed his face with her hands. ‘Is it true? You really love me?’

‘I really do love you, more than anything. That’s the easy bit,’ Jack said, kissing her again. ‘I love you, and I don’t want to waste another moment of my life without you. You were right. About the guilt. About atoning. About all of it. I was spared. I don’t know why, but I was spared, and it’s time I claimed my life back. I don’t know how I’ll do it, Celeste, but I want to try. I love you, and I’d be a bloody fool to pass up the chance of happiness with you.’

‘And you are not a bloody fool.’ She beamed at him. She didn’t think she had a smile wide enough for him, so she kissed him. ‘I love you.’

‘And I love you. I don’t know what that means for us, Celeste. I have no idea what our future will be, but I can promise to love you always, and to try.’

‘Jack, mon coeur, that is all I want.’